Eclipse
by Buffelyn
Summary: Evelyn wakes up in a hospital, married to a stranger and four months pregnant. Can she resurrect her shadowy past before deadly ancient secrets come to light? Sixth chapter up, the end :)
1. She's Come Undone

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Title: Eclipse

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Summary: Evelyn wakes up in a hospital, married to a stranger and four months pregnant. Can she resurrect her shadowy past before deadly ancient secrets come to light? 

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Note: Am aware of numerous amnesia fics, but I wrote this one a loooooong time ago and felt it was too cool to give up. Tried to make it twisty and romantic and angsty enough to suit you all :)

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Disclaimer: Not mine, with the exception of the legend. 

1. _She's Come Undone_

Spanning my field of vision is white, newly-painted white, so bright I have to squint at its brilliance. All the lights in the room blaze with misguided intensity, adding to the vividness of the whitewashed room. Even the sheets are white, and so crisp that they rustle underneath me as I shift in the bed. A soupcon of color is provided by a vase of pink and yellow flowers that sits by itself on the nightstand, but other than that the room appears mostly empty. It is depressing. The brightness of the room only exacerbates the throbbing that has taken up residence on the right side of my head. 

I attempt to shift again, but this is difficult, as my left hand is attached to something. My eyes, still adjusting, follow my arm until I realize another hand is holding onto mine. It belongs to a man. He is sitting in a folding chair at my bedside, sleeping. I think he must be tall, an imposing figure, very strong. He is probably handsome but looks exhausted; dark circles mar his skin underneath his eyes, and he is slumped in the chair as if he hasn't slept in days. How it is possible to sleep in such an uncomfortable-looking chair is beyond me. 

It is also quite confusing as to what exactly the man is doing here. I assume I am in a hospital; I've figured that out from the bed and the walls and the flowers, although _why_ I am here is yet another puzzle. He can't be a doctor, can he? I know of no doctors who take such a personal interest in their patients that they sleep by their bedside, holding their hands. And yet I have never seen this man before in my life. A long-lost relative come to care for me in my time of sickness? (Whatever that is; I haven't gotten that far yet.) In the back of my mind I hope we're not related, for after studying him for a moment I've decided that he is, indeed, rather good-looking.

Speaking of relations, where is Jonathan? His only sister in the hospital and he doesn't have the decency to be here? Maybe he doesn't even know. I haven't seen him in a few months; last I heard he was visiting people back in London. Maybe nobody knows I am here. Only this handsome stranger, keeping vigil over my bedside at God knows what hour. Maybe he can tell me what is going on.

Careful not to wake the sleeping man, I concentrate on finding out exactly what's wrong with me. My head still hurts a little, though the pain has mostly subsided. Something feels off, something not normal, though I can find no injuries of any sort. It's more like something deep inside me. Something has changed; my body feels different, as if it is not quite my own. My hand moves over my abdomen, as if this is the source of my quandary, though I cannot for the life of me figure out why this would be so. 

Without meaning to, I sigh, and the sleeping man snaps awake. He looks no more familiar with his eyes open, though I notice they are blue. His mouth falls open before he speaks, like he can't believe he's seeing what he's seeing. "Evy?" he says, his voice dry as if he hasn't used it in a while. I haven't been called that in a while, either, only by Jonathan. After a moment of staring I suddenly find myself crushed inside a hug. "Jesus, you scared us," he says, his words muffled because he is speaking them into my hair. I remain silent as he lets me go, kisses me on the forehead, sits on the bed. He just keeps looking at me, and his hands clutch mine as if they have every right to. "Evy? Are you okay? Are you going to answer me?"

"I'm fine." I'm surprised at how hoarse I myself sound, and it takes a few more sentences to work the kinks out of my throat. "I think. I mean, I...I don't know."

"God, Evy." The American kisses my forehead again, plays with some stray locks around my face. I tell myself I should be scared at how easily this stranger takes such intimacies with me, but his actions seem comfortable, familiar somehow, though his face does not. "Jonathan went back to his apartment to sleep, he should be back any minute."

Relief washes over me. Maybe my brother can give me some answers. "Jonathan's in town?"

A strange look crosses his face, but it is quickly replaced by a smile. "Well...yeah. He's hardly left this room for the past..." His face fades again, as if he was about to say something he shouldn't. "I should get the doctor," he says instead. He raises my hands to his mouth, kisses the left, then the right. 

"You're not a doctor?"

He smiles again, almost laughs. "How astute of you, Mrs. O'Connell. I'll be right back."

"I'm not Mrs. O'Connell..." I try to say, but he's gone from the room before I can finish my sentence. Is it possible he has me confused with someone else? How could you do that? Do I have an identical twin running around the very same hospital where I am staying? And by the way, what _am_ I doing here? I'll have to ask him when he comes back, right after I clear up his misperception about my identity. Mrs. O'Connell, indeed...

If it weren't for the feeling growing deep inside my stomach with each passing second, I might even be able to convince myself. 

Almost immediately he comes back with a nurse in tow, who busies herself checking my head, my pulse, et cetera, before patting my hand and leaving the room with an encouraging smile. She doesn't say a word. 

"I want some answers," I say, the moment the nurse leaves, before the man can say anything. "What am I doing here?"

He takes his seat on the bed next to me again before answering, though I've tucked my hands underneath the sheets so he can't get to them. "They called Dr. Thorne, he's on his way."

"What am I doing here?"

"Actually, we've sort of been hoping you could tell us that." He's decided to place a hand on my stomach, massaging it with ever-so-slight pressure. The gesture unsettles me, and I shimmy a bit in the bed to get away from him. 

"Would you help me sit up?" I say, attempting to get his attention on something besides me. "And I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing here."

"You know I don't like you being alone in the Museum at night," he says, helping to fluff the pillows behind my back. "It isn't safe."

Actually, sir, I've never seen you before in my life, but thank you for the sentiment. "I think I can decide for myself what's safe and what's not." Who is this stranger to tell me what to do? "It's never been a problem before."

"Well, it's obviously a problem now." He seems upset, as if he is entitled to know everything about me, including where I work. "You were incredibly lucky, Evelyn. We don't even know what that guy was after, and he's still on the loose."

"Who?" I ask, exasperated. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

His expression softens, and he cradles the right side of my head gently. "You don't remember what happened? Are you sure you're okay? Does your head hurt?"

"I'm fine, for the last time. Now just tell me what happened."

Somehow he's found my hands again. He stares up at the white ceiling for a moment before answering. "They said it was about eight o'clock. You were outside the office, probably locking up."

"The Museum closes at seven."

"Yeah. You said you had some paperwork that needed doing. I was supposed to pick you up, I was waiting outside."

"Why?"

He laughs again, but it is half-hearted. He thinks I'm being funny. "I've said it a million times, it's not safe for you to be out there at night. Something..." He looks at the ceiling again. "Something like _this_ could happen."

"What..._did_ happen?"

He looks at me again, and his eyes are a little teary. "If you can't tell us, we're not entirely sure. The detective said you probably interrupted a burglary. That probably he snuck up on you."

"Who?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. Nothing is missing. I waited until about 8:10, and then I tried knocking on the doors. Didn't see anyone, but..." He clears his throat. "I saw someone's shadow. It looked like someone was in there, and it wasn't you."

"How did you get in?"

"Broke a window." 

I can't help but smile, for even though I have no idea who this man is, no one's ever broken a window in order to get to me. It's sort of sweet. 

"You were on the floor outside your office," he continues, "unconscious. He hit you over the side of the head. Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"Nothing," I reply, entirely truthfully. "The last thing I remember is getting up this morning and going to work. Well, maybe not this morning. What day is it?"

I wonder if it's his habit to pause before he ever says anything, for he certainly seems to be doing a lot of pausing in this conversation. If I didn't know better I'd think it was painful for him to talk about this, but why would it be? Who _is_ he? "It's Wednesday," he says. "You've been in a coma for six days."

I suddenly feel very cold, as if ice has frozen my veins. Six days. Is that why I feel as though a huge chunk of my life is missing, as though I've lost something? Is that why I feel another presence inside me, something intuitive, but utterly impossible? And what of the rest of it, the space between this morning, when I woke, and the events of the story this man is telling me? That is missing, too, and I cannot help but feel there is something more than a coma. 

Because when I woke up 'this morning,' it was Tuesday. Six days later should be Monday. Have I lost even more than I think? Is that why this man seems to know me so well? 

It is time to ask the question I have somehow instinctively dreaded asking. "And...what are _you_ doing here?"

He tilts his head, not comprehending. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...how long have you been here?"

"Six days." He feels my forehead as if checking for signs of illness. "Honey, are you sure you feel okay?"

"No. Why are you here?"

He seems to be at a loss for a legitimate answer to what is to me an entirely straightforward question. "Evy, I don't understand what you're asking. Why shouldn't I be here? My wife is attacked and goes into a coma for six days, I think it's a given that I'm going to be here."

_Wife_. No. This isn't right. "Would you leave, now, please? I think you need to leave."

"Evelyn." When I won't look at him he takes my face and raises my chin until I meet his eyes. They're sad, confused. No anger. "Evelyn... Do you know my name?" 

I swallow the inexplicable lump in my throat and pull my face away from him. "I've never seen you before in my life."

"If this is a joke, you need to stop it now."

"It isn't a joke! Would you just leave? Please, just leave." I find the courage to look at him again and for some reason my heart almost breaks at what I see in his face. "Please," I repeat. "I'm tired. Would you please just go away?"

Finally, someone I recognize appears in the doorway. Dr. Thorne has been treating me since childhood. Maybe he can give me some answers. "Ah, Evelyn," he says, making his way across the room. "You're awake. We were beginning to think you weren't going to come back to us. How are you feeling?"

"Strange," I say softly. "I don't know what's going on."

"Perfectly normal. You'll be fine, don't worry." He takes my wrist, counts the beats of my heart with his watch. "I assume Rick's filled you in a bit?"

_Rick_. Is that his name? He's backed away from the bed but he hasn't left the room. _Rick. _The name sets off a little flutter somewhere in my brain. _Rick. Rick. Rick...._

"How's the head, Evelyn?" Dr. Thorne asks, dropping my wrist. 

I tear my attention away from Rick, though I can still feel his eyes on me, boring little holes into my soul. "It hurts a little."

"I'd give you a painkiller, but we really shouldn't. How's the baby feeling?"

Impossible. What I've been telling myself is impossible has suddenly been voiced, out loud, by someone who should know what they're talking about. Impossible. 

_Rick...._

"Dr. Thorne?" he says, quietly. "Could I talk to you outside for a minute?"

"Of course. Evelyn, you need to get some rest, all right? Don't try to get up. You're still recovering. All right?"

I nod my head dumbly, attempting to shut my brain down because the thoughts that are bouncing around it torture me with their ludicrousness and their certainty. I close my eyes, not able to bear seeing the stranger for another moment. As soon as I can sense that I am alone, I can feel oblivion pulling on my senses, and I welcome the slumber as it dulls the brilliance of my little white hospital room. 

~*~*~*~


	2. If Only You Knew

2. _If Only You Knew_

When morning comes I am grateful to find that the natural light of day diminishes the need for excessive lighting, greatly cutting down on the glare. My room is still bright white, the flowers still sit on the nightstand. I have to shut my eyes again when I realize that I am not dreaming. I am still... I don't know what I am, anymore. 

My morning is filled with doctors and nurses flitting in and out, keeping busy with meaningless tasks, asking me questions. Particularly Dr. Thorne. 

"Can you state your full name for me, Evelyn?" he asks, shining a pen light into my eyes. 

"Evelyn Isabel Carnahan."

"What's your brother's name?"

"Jonathan. You know that."

"These questions are standard. I just need truthful answers, all right?"

I nod, thinking this must have something to do with that stranger. No! I'm trying not to think about him. It's too confusing. 

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

His brow knits together slightly as if somehow I've given the wrong answer, but he doesn't mention it. "What's the date today?"

"December fourteenth," I tell him. "Did I do the math right?"

He just smiles benignly and pats me on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that. Just answer truthfully. And the year?"

"1924. Right? Am I right?"

He looks sad, now. Aren't doctors supposed to be in control? He takes a chair from the wall and pulls it up to my bed. "No, Evelyn. I'm very sorry."

My head, already throbbing, practically reels with doubt and terror. "What do you mean?"

"You took a very serious blow to the head, Evelyn. You're fine, and the baby is fine. But you're very lucky you're alive, you're lucky that your husband..." He stands now, pushing the chair back and laying a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "The date is October 16, 1925."

"I've been in a coma for..."

"No, no. You were asleep for about six days. The injury was sustained on October 9, a week ago."

I feel compelled to play the part of the patient, though I'd really rather just stay in the dark for the rest of my life. "But then how..."

"We think you have something called amnesia, or memory loss. It sometimes occurs when there is severe head trauma. Think of it as a partial eclipse of your mind. The sun is still shining, but there's a tiny sliver of the pie missing."

"So I..." My mind does the math even though I will it not to. "I've lost the last ten months of my life? Will it ever... Will I ever remember?"

He shrugs. Not very comforting. "Maybe. It may just take time. Something specific may trigger your memory. It can come back in bits and pieces, or all at once. There's really no telling. For now, all you can do is surround yourself with the people and places that might help your brain regain what it's lost. If you have any more questions, I think your brother is probably the best person to answer them."

The first hope I've felt since I woke suddenly comes to life. "Is he here?"

"He's just outside. I'll go get him."

Dr. Thorne gives me another smile and leaves me alone. Moments later Jonathan enters, pushing an empty wheelchair. "Hey, baby sis," he says, almost shyly. "Feeling up for a stroll?"

A few minutes later Jonathan pushes me down a little garden path just outside the building. It's a sunny day but the wind is chilly, only fitting for October, I suppose. October! Last thing I remember I was thinking about Christmas presents and New Year's celebrations. 

Jonathan wheels me over next to a bench and sits across from me. "Feeling all right, Evy?" he asks. 

"Not really. What's going on, Jonathan?"

He bites his lip. "Uh...Dr. Thorne told you...about, I mean, that you--"

"Dr. Thorne told me I have amnesia."

"Right. Right. Yeah. You really can't remember?"

I shake my head, slowly. I'm not sure I want to remember. "No. Everything's different now, isn't it? Who was that man?"

"He's..." Jonathan sits back on the bench, then slides forward again. "His name is Rick O'Connell. We met him about, oh, seven months ago, he, uh... We went on a dig with him, to Hamunaptra."

"Hamunaptra?" I'm so shocked that I can almost forget my current situation. "Did we get there? Did we find anything? How long were we there? What was the--"

"Evy, Evy, please!" Jonathan waves his hands around in a gesture of surrender. "We'll fill you in on the details later."

"Sorry. So...what happened next?"

"Well, when we got back to Cairo, the two of you... Well, I mean, the two of you..." He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "You got married. You're married. He's your husband."

By this time my brain is so dazed I can only vaguely register the information. The only thing that keeps me from decrying it entirely is that Jonathan would never lie to me. "For how long?"

"Six months, whereabouts."

"I only knew him for a month?"

"Yeah." Jonathan grins, and a bit of my older brother peeks through his flustered veneer. "Love at second sight."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Jonathan..." I take a deep breath, though my chest feels so constricted I can barely get the air. "I'm pregnant, aren't I?"

A sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. You're four months along. Look, Evy, I know all this must be the most incredible shock, but we're going to--"

"Mrs. O'Connell."

"What?"

For some reason I try to hold my tears back, although I don't think Jonathan or anyone else could blame me for shedding them. "Evelyn O'Connell."

"Yes."

"You know, I... I always thought that when I got married, I wouldn't change my name."

To my surprise Jonathan laughs at my statement. I don't know why. I was most certainly not joking. "Oh, there was a bit of a tiff over that, Evy, believe me. Rick won out in the end; you two never told me why."

"If I ever remember, I'll tell you."

"Deal."

I look away, still wanting to hide my tears from Jonathan. Standing in the second-floor window, I see a man that looks vaguely familiar. It takes me about ten seconds to remember why, and it hits me like a bucket of ice water. 

My husband looks down at us as he leans against the frame of the floor-to-ceiling window. Even from this distance I can see his face, sad for reasons I don't want to comprehend. All at once I wonder who he is, what he's like, how I could have possibly fallen in love with him in such a short space of time. He's an American, I gathered that from the accent. He didn't seem particularly refined, nor does he appear to be the scholar I always pictured myself ending up with. I can feel my own emotions start to spiral down into a despair that matches his own expression. I have no idea who he is, and that thought depresses me no matter how much I try to push it away. 

After much arguing I've managed to convince Dr. Thorne that I can get from the clinic to the car without the benefit of a wheelchair. I still feel weak, but I refuse to appear pathetic, and I am confident that I need no help to walk ten feet. 

This is not only a matter of pride on my part, it also has to do with...._him_. I know he would offer his assistance, his arm maybe, a little support for the wife who was in a coma for six days. I've tried very carefully not to say two words to him whenever he happens to be near (which is often, although he usually just hovers as if he's not sure what he should be doing) but whatever sort of message I'm trying to send is not getting through. I don't know what I'm trying to do. Maybe I think it'll all go away if I ignore him. 

Obviously, that is not going to happen, for Rick is waiting outside the moment I step out the door. "The car's this way," he says without preamble. No 'how are you,' no 'would you like some help,' nothing. Before I can decide if I'm relieved or disappointed, he snatches my suitcase from my hands. 

He leads me to a nearby parking space and for a second I think he must be joking. There's no way I own half this car. This car costs what I make in a year. Rick sees my dumbfounded look and says, "This is a car. You open the door, sit in the seat, buckle the--"

"Don't patronize me."

"Just trying to help."

"If you wanted to help you'd just..." I stop myself before I can say 'go away.' Everyone seems to think that even though I don't remember any of it, I still have some sort of responsibility to this life. To him. 

He opens the door and waits for me to settle in, then gets in the driver's side. "You seem surprised about something," he says, turning the ignition. "Didn't expect a car as part of the bargain?"

"It's a very nice car." For some reason he chuckles, as if this were very amusing. "What?" I ask. "What?"

"Nothing."

"It's not very nice to be keeping secrets from your wife."

Rick glances over, probably surprised at my willing use of the term. "As if you tell me everything that goes on in that devious little head of yours."

"Devious? You're calling me devious?"

"Do you disagree with my use of the word?"

"It's not very nice."

He takes both hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of surrender, keeping them in the air just long enough to make me nervous. "Put your hands back on the wheel, would you?"

"As you wish, madam."

"Stop talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a stranger. Do you always talk to me like this?"

He sighs. "Look, this is bizarre for both of us. I probably know you better than any other person on this planet, and the only thing you remember...know, about me, is my name."

"Bizarre doesn't even begin to describe it." I decide to divert my attention from my fidgeting hands, where my eyes have been focused for the duration of the trip, to the outside. If I can figure out where I am, maybe I'll feel a little less lost. Less alone. "Where do we live?"

"785 NE Long Standing Lane."

"Never heard of it."

"Funny. It's a little house, about a half an acre. Nice division, a lot of British officers and their families."

"How can we afford a house, we've only been married...um..."

"Six months."

"Right. And...why do we have this car?"

"Because it's neither convenient nor safe to walk all over Egypt on foot."

"No, I meant..." I decide to just say it. I have to start asking questions sometime. "...It's a rather expensive car."

"Oh." He shrugs. "A little."

He doesn't supply any more information. "Well?" I say.

"Well, what?"

"Are you rich or something?"

"Blunt, aren't we?"

"You're not answering any of my questions."

"Persistent, too."

"I would have thought you'd know that about me by now."

He opens his mouth but shuts again abruptly, like he was going to say something he shouldn't. We pull into a driveway, but the intensity in his eyes dares me to look anywhere else, even to take in my new house. "You want me to tell you about you?" he asks, then seems to change his mind again and yanks his car door open, exiting in a huff. I don't know what I said wrong. 

~*~*~*~


	3. Remember When

3. _Remember When_

I am at the end of a long, dark corridor. Every step I take makes it stretch further into infinity, every time I blink the lights dim a little more. The darkness echoes within each noise, growing louder and louder by the moment. Maybe if I stand completely still, everything will stay as it is. As soon as I stop breathing, staying still as I can, a sense of terror overwhelms me and nearly knocks me off my feet. Behind me. Behind me... I know if I turn around I will see him there. I know if I turn around I will die.

I am woken from my dream from the sound of exploding glass, and I raise my head from the desk just in time to contemplate the last shards as they fall from the window frame and to the floor. Two things take a moment to work themselves into my brain, one--that I'd fallen asleep at my desk, and two--that someone has thrown something through my window. 

I step carefully around the desk and look at the floor of my office, now covered with shattered glass. A brick lies in the middle of the debris, and tied around the brick is a piece of crumpled paper, just like every bad caper picture you ever saw. I pick up the brick gingerly and untie the string, managing to slice only a few glass slivers into my skin in the process. I spread the note out on my desk. The handwriting is barely legible; it looks a bit like children's scribbles against the cheap, crumpled paper. 

_"He dies next."_

My heart seizes up in my chest and I sit abruptly back down in my chair, willing my head to stop spinning. What does this mean? Perhaps if I had my entire memory available for perusal I'd know what this meant, but as it stands I'm completely stumped. Getting death threats only a week after obtaining a husband, a house, and an unborn child is understandably a bit much to handle. But the note doesn't mention _me_... Are they talking about...Rick? Jonathan? Or someone else entirely? The inability to make sense of it all is more frustrating than anything I've ever encountered...

And terrifying. Unless I went through some traumatic event in the past few months that I don't remember, I can honestly say I've never been more scared in my life. 

I open the kitchen door, trying to make as little noise as possible, though this is entirely unsuccessful. As I flick on the light switch, Rick strides into the kitchen, looking mad as hell, but...there's concern etched on his face, too. I guess that's... 

"Evelyn, where the hell have you been?" he hollers. "You know the museum isn't safe to--"

"I was talking to the police. They were asking questions about...you know, that night."

The excuse tumbles out of my mouth before I have time to think. No way I'm telling him about that note, not when he's being so ornery.

He sinks into a kitchen chair, and I notice not for the first time how tired he looks. "What did you tell them?"

"The same thing I've told you, Jonathan, and everybody else. I don't remember anything. If I did, don't you think I would have told someone?"

He shrugs. "Just covering the bases. Hey, there's a lunar eclipse next week, did you know? I thought we could drive to that park, where the--"

"I don't like to stay up that late."

"Okay. So..." he says. I can see him searching for a topic. When does this stop being hard? Was it ever this hard for us? "Lots to do at the museum lately?"

"I suppose. I don't know anything about the new exhibit, it makes it rather difficult."

"They must be keeping you busy. I feel like I haven't seen you at all this past week."

The words come out of my mouth without even meaning to. "That would follow. I feel like I haven't seen you my entire life."

I can't help looking at him, even though I know it will break my heart. He looks like he's been slapped in the face. He stands up and exits the kitchen. At the entrance, though, he turns and speaks again, though he doesn't look at me. "The Putnams are expecting us at seven. Dorothy's birthday, you know. If you don't want to go, I can--"

"No, no, I'll go." I have to get out of this house, away from anything and everything, or I may just go mad. Maybe I can lose Rick at the party and just spend a few minutes being Evelyn, away from his shadow. 

Away from this horrible feeling I have...that he's in danger. 

I cannot imagine how a week has passed already. The days all blend together until I'm no longer sure which one is which. Mostly I've been spending as much time as possible at the Museum, although I've noticed that various staff members have been following me around extra-closely. My husband's orders, I'm sure, for they make up bad excuses every time I ask them about it. 

I pull a dress out of my closet at random and then nearly drop it. It's black and velvety, but the flapper-esque style is still loose-fitting enough to hide my condition. The neck swoops quite low, in fact, and the skirt flares and does a little twirly thing. I can't believe I bought this dress. My entire wardrobe used to consist of khaki and white blouses. 

Once on, however....maybe it doesn't look so bad. It seems that I look good in black. 

He doesn't mention the dress. That's rather rude. 

Wait. Why do I care if he likes the dress? No, he doesn't even have to like it, just...notice it. Maybe he's seen it a dozen times before. Maybe he doesn't think I look good in the dress. But I do. So why doesn't he think so? Maybe it makes me look fat. I probably look horribly pregnant and unattractive. But I don't care if he thinks I'm attractive. Why would I? 

Maybe I should go change. 

He's just pulled out of the driveway when I shriek, "Wait!"

Rick slams on the brakes. "What?? What??"

"I have to go change."

He looks at me like I'm insane. Probably I am. "Why do you have to change? You bought that dress just for this party."

"Oh... Sorry. I did?"

Rick starts the car again and waits until we're all the way down the street before answering. "No. I just didn't want to have to wait while you rummaged through the closet for twenty minutes before deciding to wear exactly what you've got on now."

I'm sure my mouth falls open, and I make no attempt to hide my shock. "You're absolutely impossible!"

"You never minded before," he mutters under his breath, but I hear him plain as day. 

I choose to ignore the comment, however, in an attempt to diffuse the hostility that is rapidly building within the small confines of the car. "So...when _did_ I get this dress?"

He takes a moment to answer. "Paris, I think."

"Paris?"

"On the way back to Egypt after...the wedding."

"We got married in England?"

"Yep. You insisted."

I shouldn't ask, but despite myself I really do want to know. "Where did we meet?"

"Evy, I don't want to fight--"

"I'm not fighting, I'm just asking questions!"

He sighs again, loudly, to show his irritation. "Fine. All right. Cairo Prison."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Cairo Prison. Where we met. Short version is, Jonathan stole something from me at a bar, I got arrested soon after, and that is where you found me some weeks later." He pronounces each word crisply, slowly, as if he almost relishes annoying me. "Cairo Prison."

Something about this almost seems...familiar... I put on the shocked face anyway. "You have _got_ to be joking."

"I am so past joking, it's not even funny."

"Well, what were you there for?"

He doesn't answer me, just shakes his head vehemently "no" and parks on a street filled with cars. I can hear faint laughter and the tinkle of music from a well-lit house up the road. "Now look," he says, turning to me. "You may not know some of these people. I myself only met most of them a few months ago. We haven't told anyone about...you know..." He gestures in the direction of my head like I'm a mental patient. "What happened, at the museum. Just stay close and follow my lead."

"I think I can handle myself, Mr. O'Connell."

He had been opening his car door but shuts it and turns to me again. "That's another thing. Don't call me Mr. O'Connell. My name is Rick." He gets out now, and it occurs to me that almost our entire relationship thus far has consisted of him storming out of cars. But my door opens, I see a hand. "Are you coming?" he asks. 

"What if someone asks me a question I can't answer?"

"You're smart. Avoid answering. Make something up. Lie. Faint. Whatever."

I sit in the car for a second more, gathering strength. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Dorothy Putnam. Her husband Dan works at the museum. Remember Dan?"

"He just started. In collections."

"No, he's been working there for almost a year." He sighs. "Maybe this was a bad idea. I just thought maybe you should get out--"

"No, I can do it." I take his hand finally, get out of the car. His hand holds mine for a second, just a second, before letting go. 

A snippet of a memory races through my mind, sand, sunset, something terrible.........

~*~*~*~


	4. Life of the Party

4. _Life of the Party_

I can just barely grasp the snatch of recollection that Rick's touch summoned. Sand, but that's natural; I live in Egypt. I've grown up with sand constantly in my shoes, breathing it, climbing over it. Sun, vanishing into the distance, rising again... What is this? A random image from my life that is fading fast. Just sand and sun, like a dream...

Except... Rick was there, too. He was with me, under the sun, walking across that sand. He held my hand and kissed me and protected me from something that also hovers in my brain, something I don't think I want to know about. Something happened in that desert, something terrible...

"Rick?" He turns toward me, clearly not in a mood to deal with me right now. I don't care. "I remember, I...I think..."

"What?" I love--no! no! I should not toss that word around so freely--how concerned he looks, how full of hope. "Is something wrong? Do you...do you--"

The images are too bleary, and I can't seem to grab hold of a single one anymore. "I think I remember..." I start, but I can't think of anything intelligent to finish the sentence. "Uh...sand. We...you and I, there was...sand."

He doesn't say anything for a minute. "Sand?" he finally croaks. "You remember..._sand_? We're in _Egypt_, for God's sake!"

"I'm trying, Rick! Just let me think!"

He steps away. "Come on, sand? I'm sorry, but...sand? After everything we went through together? You remember the desert? I'm sorry, Evy, but after blocking out the few months of your life which actually include me, all you can tell me is that we've spent time in a desert? We _live_ in a fucking desert!"

"Don't take that tone with me! I'm doing the best I can here, all right? Now if you want to tell me what went on in that desert, I'd be happy to listen, because I don't seem to be doing all that well on my own! What _happened_ out there?"

This makes him stop and pause for a moment. "You don't want to know. I promise, you don't want to know."

"Yes, I do! You have to meet me halfway, Rick, I'm doing the best I can!"

He thinks about this, but then shakes his head. "You don't remember, and that's okay. I'd rather you didn't. I don't want to spend any more nights holding you because the nightmares are so bad you can't close your eyes. I don't want you to go through that again."

Whatever visions I had gleaned from my past are faded completely now, but I'm filled with something else, something triggered by his words. This is something new, it's not a relic from the past, it's...something that I get in little bits, piece by piece, every time he speaks to me. 

Apparently he can't read my mind, and seems to take my silence badly. I can't get words out of my tight throat before he turns and begins toward the lighted, happy house, leaving me to trail behind. I am caught in one of those terrible dream-like states, where movement seems like molasses and sound is muffled. I have no idea how much time passes as we wind our way through the entrance, only aware of the beat of my heart and, further down, another life beating right alongside mine. It was probably only minutes, but for all I knew I could have been in that daze for hours. 

I manage to avoid eye contact with most everyone and lose Rick somewhere in the party-goers. There's a nice, private landing just up the stairs that allows me to watch the goings-on below without being bothered. Unfortunately, my solitude is interrupted as I feel someone touch my arm. It is a woman with an annoyingly pompous look on her face. I have no idea what her name is, but she doesn't seem to mind. She nods toward the party knowingly. "Hello, Evelyn. I notice you and Rick seem a bit..." She searches for a word, trying to find a polite way to put it, I suppose. "...distant, shall we say. Is the perfect couple finally coming down to earth?"

_Excuse me_? First of all, what business does she have messing in my life? I don't even know who this woman is! And secondly, 'perfect couple'? If we were so perfect, why have we fallen so far? "What is that supposed to mean?"

She clucks like an overbearing mother and pats my shoulder. "Oh, Evelyn. It happens to the best of us. Especially with the baby and all; I can only imagine the extra stress that must place on a new marriage."

Strength wells up in me, strength that I know I once possessed. "You have no business judging me or my husband," I say to her, and I can see the bravado in her eyes recoil, just a little. "You have no idea. Stay away from us."

Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out for a moment. "I, uh, I...apologize, Evelyn. I didn't... Would you excuse me?" She backs away, then skips down the stairs with as much restraint as she can manage, no doubt running to tell all her socialite friends what a psycho Evelyn O'Connell is. 

As I look down at the party from my high perch, I spot a man standing in a corner that I feel I should recognize. Does he work at the museum? I can't be sure. I know I've seen him somewhere. He looks up--

Fear slices through me, irrational, terrible _fear_. The man didn't see me, but still the sensation leaves an ice cold lump in my throat. It is so completely overwhelming, as though...

As though in a dream. As though I were being chased, threatened...

No, this is ridiculous. I'm still suffering from a head injury, for God's sake. Moments of weakness are to be expected. I realize the mysterious man is no longer visible in the morass below. Where did he go?...

"Evy?" I hear from the stair, and the voice floods me with relief. It's Rick, come to check on me. "You've been up here a while. Do you want to go home?"

I bite my tongue to keep from telling him about the mysterious man. He'll think I'm silly. If only I could get my head to clear, get my knees to steady... "I don't, uh..." I stutter, not knowing what I should say. "I don't feel..."

He reaches out, as if it were reflex. "Are you okay?"

I step away from him, speaking without thinking. "Don't touch me."

Rick isn't angry, he never has been. I realize suddenly that I've never been afraid around him; I know he would never hurt me. I suddenly know that he would protect me with his life. He would die for me. I'm not sure where this knowledge comes from, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge of a memory again, one I could have if only I'd leap over the abyss. 

"We were so good together," he says softly. He turns, and walks away. Down the stairs, into the din of the party, leaving me alone again. 

And suddenly, irrevocably, without reason...

I realize love him. 

~*~*~*~


	5. Point of No Return

__

Let's regroup. Evelyn's rich. She gets her own room in the clinic where the doctor is like an uncle to her. Rick is really safety-conscious and a man ahead of his times. Oh! Question: I had this planned as a six chapter thing (indeed, I have almost finished # 6) but I'm sensing it could wander for a while before it gets there... shall I digress and make it much, much longer? Let me know. Maybe I'll just integrate a few more chapters. Love you all, thanks for the reviews!!! :):):)

5. _Point of No Return_

I'm cold. It's not a temperature-induced cold. Cairo weather doesn't usually allow for that. This coldness drives ice into my bones. It's not a coldness that can be fixed by sweaters and a pile of blankets and hot cocoa. I need someone to hold me. It's just that. I need another human being to acknowledge my existence. I need someone to love me. 

I can't stand this anymore. Nearly a week it's been, nearly a week since the party, since I could bring myself to speak to him. I see what it does to him, I see him change just a little more toward me everyday, I see him slipping farther and farther away. I wonder if he sees the change in me, too. I wonder if he sees me looking at him. It's driving me insane that he doesn't see. 

I'm just wandering, up and down hallways, not sure what I am looking for. How is it that I feel so lost? I still have me. Nothing's changed in that respect; I'm the same as I always was. Aren't I? I wonder if I changed so much in the lost time that I'll never be the person he knew. I want to be her, I want to so badly, but she's gone, lost forever. And so is he. I've lost _him_. Why does this throw my world into such disarray? A few days ago I would have given anything to get away from this life, but now I so desperately wish I could have it back. I wish I could have _him_ back. 

Heat emanates from the library door as I pass it. Someone must have lit a fire. I open the door and walk in, but my stride is broken by the sight of Rick sitting on the couch. He is reading, and he looks up from his book with surprise. He doesn't say anything, just waits. 

"I, uh..." I gesture with inarticulate hands. "I didn't know you were in here."

"Obviously." He puts the papers down, stares into the fire. "You would have avoided the library at all costs if you had."

"No, I--"

"Evy." He shakes his head. "Don't lie to me. Avoid me, whatever, I don't care. But don't lie to me."

"I'm not trying to make this hard for you. I'm the one who was in a Goddamn coma."

This makes him laugh, and whatever harsh tone had colored his words before is gone now. "Sit with me."

I hesitate for only a split-second, but the warmth of the room draws me in. Despite the couch being rather large, the moment I sit down I sink into the cushions with no hope of rescue from their depths. As we try to find an arrangement that doesn't involve physical contact, even the slight, innocent brushing of his hand against mine sends chills up and down my spine. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks me, carefully noting my behavior with those stark blue eyes. "You don't seem quite as repulsed by me as usual."

"I'm not repulsed by you."

"Then why do you freak out when I so much as accidentally touch your arm? Why do you go out of your way not to speak to me?"

"Look, I..." I can't say what I really want to say to him. It's too hard. "I think you're very nice and all, and you're handsome, and rich, and probably quite perfect, but I don't..." 

I can't continue. I might as well have stabbed him in the heart. "You don't feel anything for me."

"No!" What is this horrible emotion that torments me day and night, but holds me back whenever I look into those eyes? "No, that's not it. I'm sorry, I can't imagine how horrible it must be for you to have this person living in your house who looks exactly like your wife, and her being a complete stranger. I'm sorry you lost your wife, but I can't just accept a husband and a child and a life out of the blue without--"

"No," he interrupts. "I didn't lose anything. You're sitting next to me, living, breathing, carrying my child. I don't think I could have handled it if I'd really lost you. All that matters is that you're here. You're still here."

Such simple words, and they strike me in the chest as though the oxygen has suddenly been sucked out of the room. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For hurting you."

He doesn't have an answer to this, instead choosing an entirely different line of questioning. "How's your head lately?"

"It's fine. God." I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror above the fire place. I forgot to put my hair up, it's in an extreme state of disarray. "Not that the rest of my head couldn't use any help. My hair looks terrible."

"You're beautiful." He pauses, wincing at his own words. "Sorry." 

I scoot forward and slide off the edge of the couch, my rear end hitting the hard wooden floor with a none-too-graceful jolt. "You okay?" Rick asks, and at my silence hands me a pillow, to cushion the hardwood, I suppose. "I used to wonder, sometimes..." he begins, then trails off. 

"What?"

"It's nothing."  
"Tell me."

"I just..." I don't have to look at him to know what I would see in his face. This is hard for him to say. "I used to wonder if we hadn't met the way we did, if we hadn't gone through everything we did... Whether you still would have loved me."

I close my eyes, swallowing a wave of panic. "You never told me about me, you know," I say, the tears nearly choking me. The heat of the fire is a lot more intense down here, and I can feel my cheeks flushing despite my earlier chill. "You said you were going to, the day I came home, but you stopped yourself."

I turn my head and look at him, waiting for an answer, but he just smiles that bemused smile again, baiting me. "You of all people should know about you."

"_I_ know, but...I want to know what _you_ know."

He ponders this for a moment, then drops down beside me on the floor. His nearness doesn't bother me; it's almost comforting, even as his knees brush against mine. It's tantalizing, just that hint of contact. His arm rests on the edge of the couch, forming a sort of cocoon around me without even meaning to. "You're just incredible," he says, and I remind myself to concentrate on his words instead of the distraction of his touch. "You're brilliant, smarter than any of those backwards board members they have the nerve to call scholars. You don't need them. You can do anything you set your mind to, even though sometimes you don't know it. You know exactly what you want, and you go after it. You're loyal, you're so protective of your brother, and the people you love. You look out for them. You don't let anyone fall through the cracks. I look at you and I can't even believe how lucky I was to find you. You saved my life in more ways than one, Evy. You saved me just by being alive."

Tears are prickling the backs of my eyes. "I'm not all that."

He smiles, cups my chin in his hand. "Yes you are. You're Evelyn."

My tears let loose. "I think I've fallen in love with you." That's it. No turning back. "I'm sorry I don't remember everything we had together. I don't know if I ever will. But these past few days, I can't think, I can't even breathe, when you're not around me. And I want more than anything to just start over. I want you to fall in love with me again. I want to find out who we used to be. I don't think I could stand it if I lost you, if somehow I've made you...stop loving me."

He rests his forehead against mine. I close my eyes; the simple touch fills me with such contentment that I could never open my eyes again and be happy for the rest of my life. "Evy... I have always loved you. Nothing will ever change that. Not even if you _try_ to get rid of me."

I can't suppress a nervous laugh, and I open my eyes. They meet his, and in them I see the sort of barely contained passion that I know will keep me warm for the rest of my life. We stay locked in that tableau for a few moments. "Rick? You know what you never told me?"

"What?"

"When was our first kiss?"

He skips a beat. "Now," he whispers, and I am barely given a chance to take a breath before my senses are completely thrown out the window. He kisses me softly at first, deliberately, as if testing the waters. This slow torment quickly gives way to a deeper passion, however, and suddenly I am swept up in a kiss so passionate I doubt any other first kiss could have surpassed it. I'm no longer cold, in fact the room seems to have become infinitely warmer than it had previously been. Even with that, little shivers run all up and down my body as his mouth moves against mine, as his hands caress my neck, my shoulders, drawing me close until I feel as though I have melted completely into him. 

"Oh!" someone says in surprise. 

Rick pulls away from me abruptly as we both turn to face the third presence in the doorway. "Err..." says Jonathan, face reddening, "sorry to interrupt, err..."

Rick stands, grabs his book off the couch. "Well, um, it's late. I have that meeting in the morning. I'd better, um...get to sleep. Goodnight."

He walks quickly out of the room, Jonathan eager to get out of his way. My brother turns back to me when Rick is gone and raises his eyebrows. "Uh, evenin', sis. How're you?"

I'm struck by the terrible hilarity of this conversation, and suppress the urge to laugh. "I'm fine, Jonathan, and how are _you_?"

"Great, great." He smiles. "Well, I'm off to bed as well. Goodnight, Evy."

"Jonathan?"

He turns back. "Yeah, Evy?"

"Even if I never get back my memory... I think we're going to be okay."

He smiles again, like infuriating older brothers do when they know they've been right all along. "I know, Evy. I know."

~*~*~*~


	6. Ghosts

I meant to continue this story, but that wasn't working, so I wrapped it up like I'd always intended. Bit cheesy, but like a really good, expensive cheese that you buy in those little tubs. Ha ha:)~ Also, I _completely_ made up the legend about Ra and the moon. _No_ basis in fact whatsoever :) Merci to all :)

6: _Ghosts_

What exactly does one wear to seduce one's husband? 

Not that I have any specific plans or anything. But I can't sleep, and the thought of being away from him for one moment longer is very distressing. The discovery that I've loved him all along has brought so many more questions to mind about him and his life, and our life together, that I feel I may burst if I don't get to ask some of them soon. I will also admit that the memory of his kiss made it very hard to concentrate on anything else, much less sleep. 

I sneak down the hallway in the dark to the guest room he's been sleeping in and push open the door before I can change my mind. It's dark, but eventually my eyes adjust to the moonlight coming in the window. I remember what Rick said about the lunar eclipse and I hope it's not too late to see it. Rick is asleep, and I take a moment to study him, too. Moonlight casts shadow and light across his face, and it strikes me how vulnerable he looks, asleep.

The book he's been reading lately catches my eye from its perch on the dresser. Upon closer inspection I discover that it's not really a book, rather, it's an unfinished manuscript of some sort. The margins are dotted with notes and corrections in what I assume to be his handwriting, and sometimes mine. They almost form little conversations on some of the pages, arguments over whether a direction was north or south, or a name or a date, the occasional "I love you" on a random page. Eventually my handwriting stops completely near the end. I must have been reading it, too, before the accident. I look at the first page and am surprised to see my name--

_Ghosts of Hamunaptra, Evelyn Carnahan-O'Connell. _

I wrote this book, or am at least in the process. Jonathan mentioned something about Hamunaptra, and I it surprises me to realize I haven't thought to ask again. 

Rick wakes as if from a nightmare, sitting upright in bed so suddenly it startles me. He sees me and the fact of my sitting there takes him a second to process. "Hello," he says, sounding as if he's not sure he's awake yet. 

"Are you all right?"

He smiles wanly. "Nightmare."

"What was it about?"

Again he smiles, avoiding a real answer. "Nothing important. It's not real."

Most dreams are drawn from life, especially nightmares. Is this part of what he won't tell me? Of what happened in that desert? "Could it have been?"

His smile fades. "Very nearly."

"Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Come here." He gathers me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. "There was a man who tried to...kill us all, basically."

That now familiar chill passes through me. Is he after us again, then? "Is he still...I mean, where--"

"He's dead, honey, don't worry." His grip on me tightens, and I can almost see the remnants of his nightmare in my own imagination. 

"What did we do to him...to make him...?"

Rick smiles for real now. For some reason this part is amusing. "We read a book. It's not important, you wouldn't believe it all anyway. You don't have to worry about him ever again. Okay?"

He's right; I can barely believe the little he tells me now. I think of the strange notes I've been receiving--what are the odds of two murdering maniacs coming after you in a space of months? "What happened to him?" 

He doesn't want to say it, I can tell. I can read this so easily in his eyes that it scares me a little bit. He sighs. "I killed him."

This knowledge doesn't disconcert me as it might have earlier. Instead I feel oddly comforted, because although I have just begun to discover who Rick is, my mind somehow already accepts the fact that he would die for me and almost did. I think I almost died, too, which doesn't bother me as much as the thought of his death does. "I love you," I tell him, without even having to think about it. 

"I love you, too," he whispers back. Moments later I think he has fallen asleep again, his breathing steady, his arms still tight around me. It is the most wonderful feeling in the world, to feel so safe in his arms. Nothing will hurt me in my sleep, not here. Not even murdering maniacs with bad penmanship. 

For once I have no nightmares, but am woken by what very well could be a real one. My eyes snap open at some barely imperceptible sound from downstairs, maybe footsteps? "Rick?" I whisper, but am met with silence and an empty bed. I get up and tiptoe to the door, which has been left open. 

I hear a shot. 

Although my heart has stopped my legs have suddenly found motion. I sprint into the hallway and to the stairway, but am halted there by someone tackling me to the ground. 

I attempt to scream but there's a hand over my mouth and a voice in my ear. "Evy, it's me. It's Rick."

"Jesus, you scared me half to death!" I hiss. "Was that necessary?"

"Someone just went down the Goddamn stairs and fired a shot at me as he went, I think it was entirely necessary."

Okay. Now it's real. It's all real. There's someone in the house, and he just tried to kill my husband. I feel anger edging in on my terror. "What's going on?" I ask, though I probably have a better idea than Rick does. 

"I need you to think. There was someone in the building that night, with you. What did he want?"

"I don't know!"

"What were you doing at the museum that night?"

My mind has never felt more blank; I have never wanted knowledge more. "I can't remember!"

"When you went back to work, what was on your desk? Could you tell what you were working on before the break-in?"

"They, uh, they'd already finished everything, while I was gone--it was an exhibit...an exhibit on Ra, the sun god."

"Sun god." Rick looks up, where a skylight frames the edge of the moon. "Eclipse."

"But it's a lunar eclipse, what does that have to do....." A trickle of little facts...

"What? What?"

"There's a story about Ra and the moon... He wanted to rule the night, as well..."

"So what did he do about that?"

And the floodgates are open. "He devised a plan, to knock the moon out of the sky. He was going to throw stones at it, that didn't work... Then he tried wrestling it to Earth--"

"Short version, honey."

I look up at the moon in the skylight and see a sliver of darkness eat slowly into the edge of it. "He was going to lasso it. But at the last moment Horus flew over the moon and obscured it from view, ruining Ra's plan. Supposedly everything was sealed inside this rock altar--the stones, the twine... Oh, God..."

"What?"

"I brought it home." The darkness suddenly seems doubly dangerous, the shadows seem to grow. "I brought it home to clean it. It's in the den."

"What would someone use it for?"

I shrug. "Oh, I don't know. Obtaining control of the moon, or some such thing."

"Right. We don't have anything to worry about then, right?" He looks to me for rationale that he knows will not hold up. "That would be impossible."

"Please, Rick. We've seen what we've seen and this is impossible?"

He does an actual double take. "What did you say?"

"Nothing is impossible."

"No, you..." I can see a glimmer of something else in his face--something unrelated to the intruder and Ra and everything else--hope? "You remember something?"

"About what?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind. You get on the phone and--"

The terror springs up again. "And where will you be? You're staying right here, you're not going down there!"

"Shh," he says. "Call the police."

Just like that he disappears down the staircase. He must have a gun, but in the chaos I did not notice. Like Hell I'm calling the police. Someone has to have heard the shot already. I don't have time to call the damn police. 

I hurry softly down the stairs, and it occurs to me that I have no gun, no weapon at all. I can still see the skylight from the first floor, and the moon is nearly halfway in shadow now, where it had been full just a little while before. 

I hear another shot, and my steps quicken. I head for the den and push open the door. 

The light nearly blinds me. After a moment I see the stone altar sitting on my desk, and it seems to be cracked open. Standing over it is the man from the party, face alight with impossible sunlight. He looks up, sees me, and blinks. "Damn," he says. "You're resilient."

"Where's my husband?"

"I can't be bothered with you right now," the man sighs, and looks again into the altar. "The eclipse is almost complete."

He seems to have stopped paying attention to me. I look down and see Rick on the floor, and my insides flip and liquefy at the same moment. His eyes are closed, and I see blood. I can't discern much more through the tears in my eyes, but the gun in his hand is perfectly in focus. 

I reach down and take the gun, wondering vaguely if Rick ever taught me to use it. The man looks up at me but does not feel threatened, apparently. 

"Silly girl," he says, and his voice seems to come from somewhere else. "You can't kill me now. I am becoming the Sun God."

"Good thing for me," I reply. "It's night."

My finger squeezes the trigger. The bullet hits the altar, and there is another shower of light that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere. Rather than illuminating the man's face, he is cast in shadow, a deeper, darker lack of light than I have ever seen. I think I hear him scream, but intense light coming from the altar mutes all my senses, and I fall through the night as darkness claims me once again. 

My thoughts float into my head in orderly succession, as if each waiting their turn. This room is not white, it is a soft coral color. Am I in the same hospital? I feel all right, just a bit sore. I can feel my baby, too, and he or she is perfectly fine. Relief flows gently through my thoughts until I come to the next one. What am I missing?

Rick. 

Violent flickers of last night slam into my throat. Blood, Rick on the floor, a shot. I throw back the covers on the hospital bed and stand too quickly. Blood rushes to my head, fogging my vision and my memories. Was it Rick's blood that I saw? How much was there? He can't be dead, life doesn't work that way. It can't, or...

Or nothing. There's nothing else. 

The nurse stops me as I emerge into the hallway. "Where is he?" I ask over her gentle protests. "Where's my husband? You have to tell me. Tell me where he is."

Either she is badly informed on the subject, or bad news is not her job. "Mrs. O'Connell, you have to get back into your room--"

"No!" I push past her and look into the next room, the panic in my chest threatening to take over my entire being. "Tell me where the Hell my husband is--"

In the third room I find what I am looking for. My first thought is that they wouldn't put a body in its own hospital room. I count three of his breaths before I move, terrified that his breathing will halt right in front of my eyes. His shoulder is bandaged, a touch of blood peeks through, but he _is_ breathing. The nurse follows me into the room but apparently decides to leave me alone. I force my feet to move. 

"Rick?" I try, knowing he won't answer right now, but needing to speak his name. I realize dumbly that I am shaking, and as if watching a film, I see my hand take his. I feel a terrible loneliness well up inside me. All the things he wouldn't tell me, all the awful memories he tried to protect me from, when at the same time he wanted so terribly for me to remember. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for leaving him alone like that. 

His eyes flutter, then focus dazedly on me. "What the Hell?" he asks. His voice is weak, unguarded, but his hand holds mine tightly. "Are you okay?"

I nod, not quite strong enough to speak yet. I take a few deep breaths, and he waits for me. "I have no idea what happened," I finally manage, "and I'm fine. Both of us are fine. What about you?"

His eyes flit to his shoulder. "I've been worse. Who was that..."

I shrug. "Don't know. Some crazy man who wanted to be a god. Run of the mill for us."

That hope flares in his eyes again, matched by an expectation of disappointment. "Evy..."

"Would you like to hear the long version?"

"Of what?"

Words come from somewhere I had lost, somewhere that suddenly resides in the back of mind like it has been there all along. "The long version of how we met. Cairo Prison. I was only interested in the box Jonathan stole from you. You were a filthy, rude scoundrel, and I hated you. And you saved my life and... and you loved me. I never hated you. I loved you the whole time."

He stares at me for a long moment, taking it in. His other hand reaches up to touch my face, though he flinches at the effort. "Likewise."

A moment passes. "Hey, sorry we missed the eclipse. Bet it was beautiful, out at the park."

He smiles now, and kisses my hand. "I think, Evy, that we could live for a very long time without ever seeing another eclipse."

~*~*~*~

__

fin


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